Page 1 of Nothing to No One

ONE

THE SPEECH WAS GOOD. What of it she’d heard anyway. Bambi Bennett was not a Hollywood darling. Not even close. She wasn’t in with the cool kids or on the A-list. There wasn’t a list for lackeys only backstage to service those with famous faces.

From their tables front of house, her role was to escort the shiny people, celebrities, backstage. Some were presenting awards, some just doing intros, others gave speeches.

The Lighting Darkness Awards were bestowed on regular civilians generous enough to give back to their communities, whether that was time, money, or fundraising. Having a big heart was the only condition. Being in LA, it just so happened that the event was sponsored by most of the big studios. Charity was great PR and a tax write-off… too cynical?

LA was pretty… sort of. Not like Wishbone, Washington, her tiny hometown. Small town life wasn’t so bad… when she was eight. Took her another seventeen years to get out of there, but didn’t results matter more than the process?

Spreading her wings, building a new life, started somewhere. For her? Lighting Darkness was it. Well, the Brooker Agency, her employer, sent her wherever she was needed. That night, it happened to be there.

After the celebs did their bit on stage, she and three other chaperones worked in rotation to escort them wherever they were going next. Chaperones weren’t allowed on stage. No, only glamorous models in glittering dresses were allowed to stand under the lights.

Working for Brooker paid the bills. Lighting Darkness? The charity was aspirational. She hadn’t quite got the knack of the LA way yet. No one cut anyone else a break. Her wary colleagues weren’t the most welcoming bunch. Odd maybe in their line of work, but this was LA. LA. LA. The city’s name was often taken in vain, to cover a multitude of sins.

Her boss, Renata, came rushing over, earpiece still firmly in place. The woman had been running around ragged all night, snapping at everyone.

“Bambi, when Mr. Lowe comes off stage, he wants to exit.”

“Exit?”

So far everyone went one of three places: back to their table, the private green room, or to a reserved hotel room. No more needed to be asked about that. Someone else was setting up the rooms as requested. Not her department. Nope, sirree. That honor was granted to more senior employees. Given the conversations she’d overheard, they were welcome to it.

“The building, Bambi, the building,” Renata said. “He has to go out the back. The rear exit… you know, the one we use for discreet departures?”

Wide-eyed, she said nothing, waiting for her boss to catch on to her naïveté. Stood to reason there would be swift, secret departures, but she couldn’t learn the process by osmosis. This was the only time she’d ever been in a Grand Hotel.

“Where exactly is that?” Bambi asked. “The rear exit?”

“Basement two, east to the end, third left. Through the storeroom and out.”

Repeating the instructions in her head, her mouth moved in time with the words. “Okay, I can—”

“It’s a regular red door,” her impatient boss said. “Roman knows where it is.”

Good, some reprieve. If Roman Lowe knew where it was, she could just sort of be there. Maybe he wouldn’t notice leading.

“Okay.”

Renata didn’t look too impressed. “Don’t forget his gift bag,” she said, lunging to grab one of the male bags from the side table to thrust it into Bambi’s hands. “And smile, for God’s sake, Bambi. You won’t get far in this town if you don’t start working what you’ve got.”

Her boss flipped around and flounced away. Work what exactly? What did she have? As a woman, she knew how to flirt and seduce. She did okay. Men weren’t a complete mystery. But in California, “working what you’ve got” was something on a whole new level… that usually involved a surgeon.

Just seconds later, applause rose in the ballroom. Those in the shadows jumped to attention. A sleek, sexy model strutted past the stage curtain, her arm hooked around that of Roman Lowe’s.

On a deep breath, Bambi went to join them. “Mr. Lowe, if you’d like to follow me,” she said, the same as she had to every other person she’d escorted that evening.

Except this time the model stopped short, forcing Lowe to as well. Adjusting her hold on his arm, the model pulled him down to whisper in his ear before pressing her glossed lips to his cheek.

Oh, uh, awkward much. Intruding on a clearly private moment, she lowered her chin. Privacy was an illusion. There were twenty or thirty other people around, getting on with their jobs. Unfortunately, at that moment, hers was to stand there, waiting, pretending she couldn’t see the intimate exchange.

The model eventually relented the kiss and her hold, presumably to go introduce herself to the next assigned shiny person.

Bambi straightened up and widened her smile. “Mr. Lowe?”

Though he didn’t focus on her, he did start moving her way. Good. A man on a mission knew where he was going. She whirled around to hurry after him as he strode past her and the corridor with the dressing rooms to go down the few stairs to the elevator lobby. Not a fancy one, or meant to be public-facing, it was an employee elevator, in the blah innards of the hotel. So much went on behind the scenes. Oblivious guests only saw the frosting, not the cake beneath. True in many walks of life.

The elevator came as soon as he pressed the button.

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